Sticks & Stones
by Spoilerwolf
Summary: Set sometime after 8x20 'Pac-Man Fever'. Sam only wanted one thing: an evening out at a bar for a few relaxing hours to hang out with his brother. What could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, I'm finally back! Took me a while to get things going, but here it is & I hope you enjoy!

A/N #2: This story is part of _The Winchester House:_ Fic Exchange - this story is written for Ibelieveinsam (Dev)

A/N #3: Obviously the characters of _Supernatural_ (namely Sam & Dean & all characters portrayed or mentioned on the show) are not my own (damnit...) - I just like to play in the _Supernatural_ sandbox sometimes.

* * *

The sound of harsh coughing echoes through the halls of the Men of Letters bunker, bringing Dean out of a deep sleep.

Groaning, Dean rolled over to his left and opened one eye, glaring at the clock.

_5:20 am._

Dropping his head back onto the pillow with a sigh, Dean threw the blankets to the side as he pushed himself up, reaching with one hand to the floor for his jeans and stifling a yawn with the other.

By the time Dean opened his door to the darkened hallway, the coughing had stopped.

He paused, waiting until he heard the toilet flush before he moved into the kitchen, turning on a few lights as he did so.

Digging around in the cupboard, he finally found the bag of coffee and dumped a healthy amount into the coffee maker and hit the start button.

By the time the coffee was almost finished, Sam trudged into the kitchen, sitting down heavily into the nearest kitchen chair. "Morning."

"Morning." Dean replied, frowning at the gaunt and disheveled appearance before him.

Sam would deny the severity of it, but ever since the trials started, they have been slowly sucking the life and energy out of his brother, especially after completing the second trial two weeks ago. By Dean's estimation, his brother had lost close to twenty pounds since the beginning of the trials. His skin was pale and his face pinched with an ever present headache.

Sam squirmed under the scrutiny. "You're up early." He finally said, putting his hands on the table and pushed himself up. His legs shook minutely.

Dean waved a hand at him as he stood up and moved into the kitchen.

Sam slowly lowered himself back down.

"I had been awake for a while. Thought I might as well get up." Dean was lying through his teeth and he suspected that Sam knew that. Some things didn't need to be said out loud though. "Coffee?"

Sam nodded and Dean grabbed a cup from the cupboard above his head, pouring a healthy amount of the hot liquid. He opened the fridge and grabbed the girly coffee cream Sam liked and stirred it into the cup with a spoon from the sink.

Casually, he asked, "what do you want for breakfast?"

With his back turned, he missed the grimace Sam gave him. He could hear it in his voice though.

"I'm not really hungry."

Dean shook his head as he pushed the cup into Sam's hands before heading back into the kitchen. "I didn't ask you if you were hungry – I asked what you wanted to eat."

A sigh this time. "Dean."

The elder brother opened the fridge, his head disappearing behind the door. "Don't say I didn't ask." Dean heard his brother mumble something about 'bossy older brothers' and smiled to himself.

A few minutes later, Dean sat down with Sam's food in one hand and his own toast and eggs in the other.

Sam was busy reading one of the texts from the library on demonology and didn't look up until Dean was pulling out yesterday's newspaper across from him.

Behind the newspaper, Dean waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

Sam stared at the bowl in front of him, unsure of what to say. Finally, "Is that…_Lucky Charms_?"

Dean lowered the paper enough that he could see Sam's baffled expression, before glancing at the bowl in question. He raised the newspaper again. "Huh. I guess it is."

It took a minute, Dean staring a hole through the newspaper, as he listened, before he heard the metal spoon clang against the ceramic bowl. He smiled to himself as he shoveled some scrambled egg into his mouth, catching up on the latest sports scores from the day before.

* * *

"Sam."

The youngest Winchester blearily opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. He was sitting in one of the leather library chairs tucked into a corner, shelves of books lined against the walls on either side of him.

As he straightened in the chair, he clumsily caught the book that had been resting against his chest. Absently, he rubbed tired eyes, trying to clear his head. He must have fallen asleep, if the blanket dropped across his lap was any indication. He had been doing that more and more often ever since he had completed the second trial.

His brother leaned against the table across from him, looking both concerned and amused. "Are you planning to sleep all day?"

Sam smothered a yawn behind his hand. "What time is it?"

Dean glanced at his watch. "Almost six o'clock."

Sam blinked. He'd slept all afternoon? He rotated his neck, feeling tightness and pain there.

He watched as his brother pushed off from the table. "Just relax. Give yourself a few minutes to really wake up. I'll get something going for dinner." His brother turned to walk away.

"No."

Sam surprised even himself by the outburst. It's not as though Dean's cooking was bad – far from it actually – but at that very moment, all Sam felt was the unrelenting need to get away from their adoptive home; Away from the constant reminder of the trials, of Sam's own diminishing strength and his increasing dependence on his brother. Whether Dean would admit it or not, he could use a night out too.

He watched as his brother stopped mid-stride, head canted towards him, waiting for him to elaborate.

Sam sighed, letting the blanket fall to the floor as he shakily pushed himself up. "Look, I just want to get out of here for a bit. Hit a diner, or a bar. Just have a night out."

Dean's eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. "_You_? Wanting to go out to a_ bar_? How delirious _are_ you?" He reached out as if to touch his brother's forehead.

Sam batted his hand away half-heartedly. "Knock it off." Taking a deep breath, Sam continued. "Look, once in a while I like to get out too." Trying a different approach, he added, "Besides, wouldn't want you getting rusty at your pool skills."

His brother rarely walked away from a challenge, and Sam was hoping that Winchester pride would kick in here.

It did.

Dean nodded after a moment. "Okay, let's go." Before Sam could celebrate such a victory, his brother poked a finger at his chest. "But the moment you start hacking up blood, puking, or generally being your as-of-late horrendously sick and disgusting self, we're going home."

Sam rolled his eyes as he brushed past his brother as he headed towards the door. "Yes _Mom_. Will you read me a bedtime story before bed too?"

He smothered a grin at his brother's murmured, "Ungrateful bitch" as he led the way towards a free evening.

* * *

The crack of wood hitting a ball signaled the start of another game of pool.

Sam watched, amused, at his table near the back of the bar at the simple pleasure his brother got out of schooling people.

He put his beer down, only his second of the night. He absently traced patterns on the worn wood table as he watched his brother line up his next shot.

They had traveled almost an hour before pulling into Harold's Bar, just on the outskirts of another small Midwestern town. Coming in, they settled themselves into one of the back tables and ordered a plate of onion rings and chicken wings, with a beer for each of them to start. They polished off the food with gusto; well, Dean with gusto while insisting Sam eat more than a few bites of each.

By the time the elder Winchester ordered his second beer, a few more patrons had entered the bar, with a couple of them grabbing beers and heading towards the pool tables.

Dean clinked his glass against his brother's, muttered 'easy money,' and slowly made his way over, surveying the scene like a lion circling a wounded animal, looking for the best way to get in close enough to make the kill.

Sam tried not to smile at the thought.

The bar was only half full on a Wednesday night. The bartender, a middle age Chinese man with a receding hairline alternated pouring drinks for customers and yelling in Cantonese at the guy in the back, working the grill.

A couple of girls, probably in their mid-twenties, sat a few tables down from them. They were loud and raucous, the brunette on the far side slamming her palm on the table after each shot she knocked back. Her friends laughing with her or at her, Sam couldn't decide.

He had caught one of the girls – a leggy blonde with the skimpy mini-skirt – giving his brother the once over when he went up to the bar to get them a second round of drinks. She giggled and turned away, face red, when his brother returned and gave her a wink.

An older couple sat near the doors, eating their meal in companionable silence, occasionally speaking softly to one another.

Sam smiled to himself behind his beer, feeling a pang in his chest. He remembered doing that with Amelia not that long ago; and with Jess many years before that. He had dreamed of growing old with someone, still loving them with that same adoration and passion as the day they had met.

A dream he'd be better off letting go – knowing that dream was never meant to be.

His drifting thoughts were pulled away as his brother slid into the booth across from him, grinning at him with money held up by two fingers.

"Having fun?" Sam asked, pleased to see his brother seemingly having some genuine fun.

Dean tucked the money into his shirt pocket and patted it. "Making money and kicking ass is always fun."

They had only been seated a few minutes before a tall burly man with torn jeans and a dark button up shirt approached their table. "Hear you beat my brother," the man nodded his head in the direction of the pool table, where Dean's earlier opponent stood, grinning at him. "You up for a game?"

The brothers' glanced at one another – Sam shrugged, tipping his beer toward the other man. Dean rolled his eyes, tossing the last of his beer back and slamming it against the table. "What the hell, right?" He said, pulling himself out of the booth and following the guy down the steps toward the pool table. He paused on the last step, turning around toward Sam, whose eyebrows were raised in question. "Get me another beer, Francis." He grinned at Sam's eye roll before catching up to the other man.

Sam watched him go, shaking his head. He swallowed the last of his own beer before pushing himself up, making his way toward the exit.

The night air was damp with all the rain and Sam fought to contain a cough as he headed towards the Impala. While Dean was busy enjoying himself, Sam thought he would get a little research don while he sat there – maybe make up for what he'd missed today.

His brother never said anything, but Sam was feeling next to useless as the trials continued. He felt weak as the effects of the trials began to take a toll on his body, leaving him drained and in a perpetual state of exhaustion.

Sam's strides lengthened unconsciously. No, Dean needed a break from trying to do everything. From looking after Sam, to research, to hunting, driving and everything else, his brother needed a night off.

So long as Sam wasn't stuck at the bunker and got some air, he'd happily do some research.

Speaking of air, Sam's chest shook with the force of the cough as it erupted past his lips, like exhaling shards of broken, jagged glass.

Standing by the Impala's driver door, Sam struggled to cover his mouth with one hand and find the key in his coat pocket with the other.

Sam tried to suck in air in between coughs, but it served to only further irritate his airways. Blood splattered against the fist he had jammed against his mouth, feeling his ribs ache in protest to the coughing fit.

The key slid out of his fingers as he pulled them out of his pocket, landing on the asphalt by the front tire.

The lighting on the street was poor, the Impala parallel parked along the main road. The nearest light was forty feet across the road near a closed down donut shop with boards slapped across the windows.

The rain had slowed from the barrage of earlier in the evening to a light drizzle.

Perhaps it was the relentless coughing, or the patter of rain, or even the lack of decent lighting that had Sam fail to notice the approaching car that was driving too fast and too close to the parked cars.

He was just beginning to reach for the dropped keys when the sound of screeching tires reached his ears. He barely managed to turn his head in the direction of the sound before the world up-ended itself with a cacophony of shattered glass, grinding metal and high pitched screaming.

The world righted itself with a bone crunching rattle as Sam landed in a heap several feet past the Impala's rear bumper, coming to a rest on his back, rain drops peppering his blood streaked face.

A young woman stared into her rear-view mirror, fear etched into the lines of her face. A moment later, she stomped on the gas, tires screeching as she drove away, leaving Sam moaning and bloody in the middle of the street.

As the back-lights of the car disappeared, the street returned to its eerie silence, the rain the only sound as it danced across the cars in the cool spring evening.

* * *

Hehe - cliffie time! *dodges incoming tomatoes*

Should only be one more chapter after this.

~ Spoilerwolf


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry guys for the extremely long time between updates. I won't go into details other than to say health and family issues played a role in it. All is good now (except now I'M sick, lol); but I didn't want to share my misery with you guys, so... here's the next chapter - peace?

A/N: #2: This story is un-beta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine. If you spot something, just kindly let me know via pm. Also a BIG thank you to those who reviewed - I sincerely appreciate it :)

A/N #3: This story is for Ibelieveinsam for _The Winchester House Fic Exchange_; because of this, general potty mouth from Dean is expected. Other than that, enjoy the fluff & comfort to come!

* * *

Dean tapped his fingers against the table to the beat of an old 80's song he'd only heard a time or two before.

Joshua, his current opponent, was busy lining up his shot, of which Dean would bet the Impala that he had not a fat chance in Hell of making.

Dean was feeling relaxed for the first time in… well, in a _long_ time. He'd never admit it to Sam, but going out tonight and doing something low key, but fun – yeah, they'd both needed this.

Speaking of, Dean glanced behind him toward their table, frowning, when all he saw were two empty bottles. He looked toward the bar, seeing if his giant mop-head of a brother was hustling them up some more beer.

The bartender was wiping down the counter, while a disheveled man threw back a shot of whiskey, quietly perched on a stool a few feet away.

Again, no Sam.

A glance at his watch and he figured he'd been at the game no more than fifteen minutes.

So where the Hell was his brother?

Joshua blew his shot, as Dean knew he would. Joshua's sibling snickered at the table across from them. Swearing, the man stepped away, inviting Dean to make his shot.

Dean flubbed it with barely a thought, more concerned about his AWOL brother. "Back in a few." He said, maneuvering around a few tables as he headed toward the restroom. Maybe Sam had a coughing fit and needed some privacy, he thought.

It didn't take more than a cursory glance at the dingy bathroom to know Sam wasn't there before he walked back out again.

A small crowd had gathered near the entrance. The bartender was on the phone and a small petite woman was asking the gathering of people if anyone was a doctor or who knew first aid.

Worry wormed its way into Dean's stomach and as he caught a glance at her blood stained hands, hunter instincts took over. Dean was beside her a moment later, gently cradling one of her hands in his own. Blood coated her small fingers and was splashed half way up her forearms as well. "I know first aid." Dean said gently, trying to find a wound that he could apply pressure to. "Where are you hurt?"

The woman shook her head. "It's not mine. There's been an accident outside." Her hands now curled around Dean's, pulling him towards the door. "My husband is looking after the guy right now, but he's bleeding pretty badly and we need an Ambulance and some towels or something to stop the bleeding."

Oh no. Dean's stomach dropped, as did his hands. "A guy is hurt?" The woman nodded. "Show me."

The towels were dropped on the counter and were immediately picked up by the woman who headed for the door, Dean hot on her heels.

The small rain storm had picked up since the brothers had arrived, rain pelting Dean in the face as he side-stepped puddles in the parking lot, following the woman as she headed toward the road.

As he hit the road and turned left, he felt his gut fill with ice and his breath stop as he saw his brother lying on the ground. He pushed passed the woman and ran the last few feet and knelt carefully next to his brother. "Sam."

His brother groaned faintly, but didn't open his eyes. He lay face up on the ground, his face bathed in rivets of blood and darkening bruises. A cursory glance downward he noted torn and bloody jeans and glass that littered the road around them. He noted dispassionately that the glass came from the Impala's broken window, where whoever had hit Sam slammed into the car as well. Dean's hands were gentle as he checked his brother for any broken bones.

"You know him?"

Dean almost forgot there was anyone there but him and Sam. He glanced at the speaker, a man whose hands were gently but firmly supporting his brother's head and neck, keeping him stabilized.

Dean nodded, indicating he'd heard the man's question as he returned his focus on his priority. "He's my brother."

The man gave him a sympathetic nod, his elbows scraping against pavement as he adjusted his hold. "Liz." He waited for his wife to settle beside him. "Could you use of those towels and apply some pressure around his shoulder?"

"Yes, of course." She unfolded one of the dark grey towels and as gently as she could, wrapped it around the torn and bloody wound on Sam's right shoulder.

Sam's lips twitched, frowning, but otherwise made no sound or indication of pain.

Dean reached over his brother and grabbed another towel. Pulling his boot knife out, he slit the towel into smaller strips, wrapping one around the still seeping wound on Sam's knee. The other, he folded the cloth in half and applied steady pressure to the cut on Sam's forehead.

His brother groaned from the pressure, eyelids flicking as Sam struggled to return to consciousness.

Dean dropped his other hand lightly on his brother's non-injured shoulder. "That's it, Sammy. Eyes front and center."

It took a few moments, before Sam's bleary eyes cracked open, peering at his brother in confusion and pain.

Dean smiled tightly. "There you are." The smile disappeared soon after as Sam tried to move. "Hey, look at me." Dean could see confusion replaced by fear as his brother became aware of hands holding his head and smaller, more delicate ones pressing firmly against his other shoulder.

Dean cupped Sam's chin with one hand, leaning forwards to make direct eye contact. "Dude, you got smoked by a car – _again_ – you can't move around yet until we get you looked at by a Doc."

Sam's eyes flickered to where a middle aged woman knelt next to him on his right side; her dark hair tucked behind one ear as she applied steady pressure to what Sam assumed was a bleeding wound. A look up had him staring at the forehead of a dark-haired man, his hands tilting his head slightly back and secure. He didn't know why he was on the ground, why these people were here and why Dean was trying hard not to panic.

His breath came in choppy bursts, the gentled his voice. "Dude, slow it down. I left the paper bag at home." He joked, trying to stop a full blown panic attack from rearing its ugly head.

Neither brother were strangers to pain; Sam especially, considering all the Hell – figuratively and literally – he had gone through. Waking up to hands all over you, unable to pinpoint an exact area that hurt – or an area that didn't – and confused about why you were there –yeah, those were the times the fear let itself known. When that feeling of being exposed and out of control was magnified and pain made you lose sense of where you were.

Dean could understand that only too well.

"Okay Sammy," Dean moved his hand to rest against Sam's stuttering chest. "You know the drill – in and out, just like me."

Dean pulled in an exaggerated breath, slowly letting it out, watching as Sam attempted to do the same.

It took a minute, before Dean's hand no longer jumped off Sam's chest, but gently rose with it.

Sam's teeth started to click together, as the rain began to fall heavier, his hair now sodden with water and blood.

Dean eased one arm out of his jacket. "Cold, huh?" Here." He switched hold of the towel with his other hand, pulling the jacket off by the sleeve with his teeth, laying and gently tucking his jacket over his younger brother. "Hang in there, buddy. Ambulance will be here soon."

Dean patted his jacket covered brother on the chest before focusing on the still seeping head wound.

Sam closed his eyes, teeth still chattering, wincing as various injuries made themselves known. His teeth were still clicking against each other a few minutes later, when the Ambulance pulled to a stop beside them, Dean's warm hand on his chest a steadying presence as the storm continued overhead.

* * *

A/N: One more chapter to go - will hopefully be up within the week *fingers crossed* Hope you guys enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Well here it is, everybody, the last chapter! Sorry it took me a bit longer than I wanted to finish this up, but at least it's here. Did everyone enjoy the Premiere? Lots of fic material to work with there after that episode! Anywho, enjoy the last chapter!

A/N #2: A big thanks to Ibelieveinsam for the prompt - I had lots of fun with this one & I hope you enjoyed it! :) The prompt will be posted at the end of this story for those curious.

A/N #3: Any and all errors are, unfortunately, mine.

* * *

Sam rolled his head to the side, hearing the pillow crinkle under his head, feeling the first inklings of consciousness return.

He felt oddly detached, having recollection of pain before this… black hole of numbness he was currently feeling.

Cracking open his eyes – or rather _trying_ to – his right eye refused to open - he was met with the black soles of his brother's boots, about two inches from his face.

He blinked, tiredly.

"Hey, you're awake." The boots disappeared and were quickly replaced by Dean's cheeky grin. "Are you really awake this time, or is this more 'lights on, no one home' Sammy?"

Sam frowned. When did he leave the lights on?

Dean barked a laugh, placing a warm hand around Sam's wrist. "So stoned Sammy still, huh? But at least you're more aware than last time." Dean paused, reaching for something out of Sam's limited eyesight. "Thirsty?"

Sam's tongue darted out between cracked lips, his one good eye conveying the message.

Dean reached behind him and pulled out a half full cup of water. He grabbed an unused straw from the table and dropped it in the cup, watching as Sam took a few tentative sips.

When his brother pulled away, Dean left the cup on the nightstand. "Seriously, how are you feeling?"

Sam mused over fuzzy thoughts. His right arm was strapped to his chest that much he knew. And the nasal cannula sitting just under his nose was irritating. Beyond that, he just felt a sort of numb detachment.

His brother's eyes crinkled a little bit. "Numb is… good. You're not feeling much because they're pumping your ginormous body full of drugs right now." He felt Dean rub his arm gently above the IV. "Enjoy it while it lasts, buddy."

Numb? Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. How did Dean know how he felt? Was Dean a mind reader now? If so, Sam was going to have to watch what he said- er – what he thought around Dean.

Dean snorted, leaning back into his chair without breaking his hold on Sam. "Dude, you on drugs means you have no verbal sensor. You've been talkin aloud to yourself with every question."

"Hmm." Was all Sam could come up with as he shut his eye, only just now starting to feel the pain just behind the painkillers.

Dean seemed to sense it as well. "Dude," he said, his voice softening as Sam's eye cracked open. "The nurse should be back to top off the painkiller in the next fifteen. If you need something sooner, just say the word man and I'll go get her."

Sam managed a tired grin as he closed his eye again. It warmed him that his big gruff and tough brother was such a sap under all the leather. A sap, but an awesome brother.

He felt Dean's fingers rub gently across his lower arm. "Go to sleep, Sam. I'll be here and keep watch."

Sam's mouth twitched.

Dean kept up the soothing motion until Sam's face lost the tension around his bruised eyes and his breaths deepened.

The older brother sank heavily into the vinyl chair, rubbing a hand across his face. Sam was lucky, the doctor had said. A concussion, which was a given the way Sam's head had bounced against the windshield, if the stitches and bruises were any indication. A broken rib and a second degree dislocation of his right shoulder. Add to that the two lacerations – one to his leg and the other on his right bicep that required multiple stitches to close. Barring any complications, three to four weeks recovery.

Dean scoffed. Yeah, lucky.

It was the other finding the doctor discussed with him that worried Dean. From the CT scan they had done of Sam's chest, Sam's lungs appeared scarred – something, the doctor had said, had not been caused by the accident.

Dean rested his head in his hands.

The Trials.

He knew the trials had been affecting his brother – hell, he's _seen_ the bloody tissues in the garbage and the way Sam's cheekbones stood out more sharply as he lost weight. But to have a doctor be able to actually _see_ what the damage was doing to his brother on the inside? He hadn't signed up for this – this wasn't in the trial description.

Dean ran rough fingers through his hair. Then again, Castiel had said Sam was injured from the trials as far back as two months ago – before Sam had even started on the second trial. Back then, Cas had pointed out that Sam was damaged in ways even an Angel couldn't heal. If the damage couldn't be reversed….

Sam shifted in his sleep, unerringly turning his face in Dean's direction, as if sensing his brother's distress.

Dean smiled faintly despite himself. While the injuries from tonight's accident would heal, it was the trials that scared Dean. Scared because they were now causing permanent damage to his brother – and that was something unacceptable to Dean.

He leaned closer to the bed, watching Sam's eyes shift behind his eyelids as he dreamed. "Sam, as soon as these damn trials are done, we're going to get you fixed up, okay? Screw what Cas says, I'll find a way to make you better, alright? That's a promise, Sam."

Dean gently patted his brother's blanketed knee and leaned back in the chair, his eye catching the crest of the morning sun as it started to rise over the mountain,.

As Dean closed his eyes and rested his feet against the bars of Sam's bed, he whispered one last promise. "No matter what it takes Sam, I'll find a way."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the kind words guys! See you at the next fic!

Prompt: Sam gets hit by a car. Lately it has become one of my favorite forms of limp!Sam. I won't be

picky just as long as Sam is injured :p


End file.
